


Imperium

by The Jingo (The_King_in_White)



Category: Code Geass
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 01:09:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14706278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_King_in_White/pseuds/The%20Jingo
Summary: Charles zi Britannia never conceives of Ragnarök, so when he launches the Second Pacific War he decides his children belong back under his watchful gaze. Lelouch and Nunnally are repossessed during the Invasion of Japan, and Britannia will never be the same.





	1. DESTRUO

_Destruo;_

_[To] Destroy, Demolish, Pull Down, Ruin_

* * *

There was blood on his collared shirt, staining the crisp white with a spray of murderous crimson. It had been many hours since the demolition of the Kururugi Shrine, but Lelouch was still unable to force himself to strip and change into the fresh clothing that had been laid out for him.

Nunnally had cried herself to sleep despite the low drone of the aircraft's engines and the ever hovering presence of one of Britannia's knights. Ever since the assassination, his younger sister had been easily fatigued. With the turmoil surrounding the rescue – _abduction?_ – of the vi Britannias in the midst of the first air strikes against Japan, Lelouch couldn't blame her for succumbing to the escape of sweet oblivion.

God knew he could still smell the stink of burnt flesh in his memory from when the first bomb had gone off. But Lelouch couldn't afford to be weak. Not in front of Nunnally as her world collapsed down around her for the second time, and not in the gladiatorial arena he would shortly be re-entering.

Sparing a truly foul glare for the knight standing guard over the two royals with an anxious expression, Lelouch turned his gaze to stare out of the tiny windows along the side of the cargo jet. White mists of cloud wisped by, curling into nonsensical shapes beneath the setting sun. Far below and out of sight, the Pacific Ocean stretched for thousands of kilometres in every direction as the plane fled east like a bat out of hell.

East towards the homeland. East toward that city of lights – _Pendragon_ \- that sprung out of the desert wasteland in a tribute to human innovation and conquest of the elements. East towards the Imperial Family, that slavering pit of human ambition and cruelty. East towards their father, the pitiless Britannian Emperor.

Closing lavender eyes, Lelouch drew in a wearied sigh and began to unbutton his shirt. Appearances would very quickly become everything, and the only way to survive in the arena with little power was to submit to the greater predator. Shame burned in the young boy's gut at the thought of debasing himself – of having to kneel down to the monster that he had once considered his father – for a chance to be used as another cheap piece in the great game. But there was nothing else Lelouch could do to protect Nunnally.

_Suzaku, I hope wherever you are, that things are going better for you than they are for me._

* * *

There was fire in the sky.

The silver fingers of the half moon hanging in the sky paled in intensity next to the burnished orange flames of explosions on the distant eastern horizon. War had come to Japan with a vengeance, and already the native military was being crushed underfoot by the foreigners and their terrifying new weaponry.

But Kururugi Suzaku knew none of this. The green-eyed boy knew nothing of Knightmare frames, and the inherent hopelessness of trying to fight them with conventional infantry. All Suzaku knew was that it was dark, and he was alone, save for the newly expired corpse of one of his father's soldiers rapidly cooling in the Tokyo night next to him.

Shaking fingers desperately scrubbed away the sticky gore clinging to the matte black surface of the handgun the young Kururugi had liberated from the soldier's corpse. Suzaku half-remembered lessons taught about the care of firearms from months past, and cursed himself for paying more attention to the strange foreign prince sitting in at the time than his actual lessons.

"Fuck." Suzaku indulged shakily, flicking the safety on and shoving the pistol in his pocket once he was satisfied it was half-clean. " _Fuck_." The boy swore again as he stood, peering into the gloom. At any other time Haha-ue would have him scrubbing the dojo from top to bottom for a dirty mouth, but Suzaku sincerely doubted she'd give him all that much trouble considering the circumstances.

What to do now? Planning had never been his area of expertise – Suzaku knew he was too hotheaded for it, and with Lelouch around there was little point in trying when the Prince had been able to think circles around even some of the adults barely trying. It was coming back to bite him in the ass now though, since the last Suzaku had seen of the other boy was his friend's helpless rage when Britannian soldiers grabbed hold of him following the initial airstrikes.

Suzaku couldn't run to his father – he had no idea where the man was, and even if he did, Genbu would most likely be directing Japan's military during the invasion. His mother had taken a day trip to Osaka, and finding Kururugi Kakko would be even harder than finding her husband. So who did that leave?

...Kaguya. There was no reason to think that his cousin and her family wouldn't be home. Aika-oba was a traditional Japanese housewife, despite Daichi-oji being such a high rolling industrialist. Even if his uncle had been caught in another one of his meetings sucking up to investors, his aunt would at least be home.

Except that getting there would mean he'd have to get across Tokyo on foot. Scuffing the tip of his shoe over the asphalt as he stood, Suzaku spared a last sad glance for the dead soldier before patting the gun in his shorts pocket cautiously. Crossing a warzone with nothing to protect him but a half-emptied pistol, and the two fists of a ten year old boy – easy as pie.

 _Yeah sure_ , the Kururugi heir thought sourly as he crept from the dank alley.

* * *

Ignoring the tired grit in his eyes from lack of sleep, Jeremiah Gottwald stepped out into the warm desert morning of Pendragon and sighed with heartfelt relief. Finally, it seemed something was going right in his life ever since that horrific day Empress Marianne had been gunned down in front of her children.

The Margrave had simmered in months of frustration after the incident, initially urging the murdered Empress' Royal Guard to close ranks and support their deceased Mistress' children only to be shocked when the vast majority of them had shrugged him off. At the time Jeremiah had only been a Second Lieutenant, like every soldier initially enrolled into a Royal Guard, and someone so low in the totem pole wouldn't usually speak up to his superiors.

But Jeremiah had thought their oaths had meant something. That swearing life and limb to protect the Fifth Empress and her children meant more than a decent wage and a gold bar on their shoulders. Apparently not.

His father had always called him too much of a hotheaded idealist.

When the Emperor had sent Marianne's children packing off to Japan, the young officer had flown into a panic. Two defenceless children playing political hostage in a far off land with no one to protect them if the Japanese Prime Minister had woken up with a craving for blood sport. Jeremiah had called every friend, leaned on every favour and spot of blackmail to try and get himself assigned to watch the vi Britannias, only for word to come down through the back channels that his offer was smacked down.

Seething with resentment, the only thing the young noble could have done was throw himself into his work and hope to climb high enough and have enough influence to protect Empress Marianne's children. Jeremiah was tired of failing. Tired of waking up in the night to dreams of that bloodied staircase in Aeries' Villa. Tired of knowing that the woman he swore to protect with his life died without him even knowing at the time, and the children he swore to guard were off defenceless in a foreign country.

One promotion and months of networking later, Jeremiah had been able to wheedle his way into the sudden rescue mission that the Emperor had authorized shortly before the invasion of Japan proper. The new silver bar adorning his shoulders felt like a brand of loyalty, and the Gottwald nobleman was happy to wear it.

Scanning the horizon sharp orange eyes in a cursory glance for threats, Jeremiah nodded to his silent subordinate that it was safe for the two royals to disembark the plane.

Perhaps it was rude to only acknowledge the composed presence that had swept up the runway as soon as they landed after he'd cleared the area of threats, but Gottwald was so far beyond giving a damn what any of the other royals thought at the moment. Turning sharply, Jeremiah swept into a low bow that was appropriate to their relative social standings.

"Lord Privy Seal."

"First Lieutenant" Lavender eyes pierced into the Margrave with calculating intent before Schneizel el Britannia dismissed Jeremiah as genuinely loyal to his young protégé. The Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal had Kanon look into every dirty little secret of every soldier assigned to retrieve the vi Britannias the moment he'd learnt of the assignment. Gottwald had come up squeaky clean – at least in terms of his genuine good will towards the former Fifth Empress' children.

Turning his focus to the shuffling shadows at the top of the ramp, Schneizel schooled his face into the charming smile that the media had come to know and love during the short years following his political debut.

"Schneizel?" came incredulously as Lelouch pushed his sister's wheelchair down the ramp. The sudden address drew the blind royal's attention as Nunnally craned her face from morosely facing her lap to facing forward with a fragile smile.

"I was always partial to Don Quixote myself." The White Prince smiled winningly before crouching in front of his crippled sister's wheelchair. Ignoring the mutter of "I refuse to anyone's Sancho Panza." Kanon gave, Schneizel carefully grasped one of the blind princess' soft hands.

"Hello Nunnally."

Nunnally seized Schneizel's hand with surprising strength, betraying the little girl's true need for comfort and stability even as the princess donned her own mask. "Hello Schneizel, have you been well?"

The look of silent, impotent fury that flashed through Lelouch's eyes informed Schneizel all he needed to know. Neither of his young siblings were whole, and the two children were only too aware of all they had lost. The knowledge ignited an unfamiliar burn behind his eyes, and it took a moment for the White Prince to realize that he was _angry_.

For all that Clovis called him a cold-blooded reptile, Schneizel _did_ feel. Buried deliberately deep so as to not compromise his efficiency to be sure, but the White Prince could feel just as strongly as any of them. And what their father – no, The Emperor – had done to these children was monstrous. Not at all unexpected considering the man's penchant for pure Darwinism, but monstrous all the same.

If Schneizel hadn't already been determined to seize the throne, he might have been inspired to treason all over again. Schneizel had a capacity for enormous Machiavellian cruelty, and the Duke of Gloucester could freely admit it. But the shameless and ultimately pointless cruelty Charles zi Britannia had yoked on his children? He had no taste for that particular sadism.

"I am well now that you have returned, little sister." Schneizel returned gallantly before standing and setting a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "Come now, we have some unpleasantness to take care of with the Emperor before I take you two back to my estate."

"We're going to live with you?"

"What do you mean _we_ have something to take care of?"

The siblings blurted simultaneously, causing the White Prince to raise a slow blonde brow. "Of course you'll live with me Nunnally, I'm going to look after you two. And Lelouch, you really didn't expect I'd leave you to confront the Emperor alone, did you?"

The suspicious look Lelouch gave him said, yes, he had expected exactly that.

* * *

"Announcing His Highness Schneizel el Britannia, Second Prince of the Holy Britannian Empire, Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal, Duke of Gloucester, and Fourth in Line to the Imperial Throne! And His Highness Lelouch vi Britannia, Eleventh Prince of the Holy Britannian Empire, Duke of Monmouth, and Seventeenth in Line to the Imperial Throne!"

If Lelouch had not already been a steeled bundle of nerves, the last tidbit would have thrown him into gaping shock. As it was, the ten year old's bow almost stuttered to a stop before Schneizel gave him a gentle push forward to keep moving. No weakness, and no hesitation.

The black haired prince remembered quite clearly his vocal and very public renunciation of his rights of succession. Lelouch was not seventeenth in line to the throne, thank you very much. Though he would take the Duchy, considering it was one of the only things that bastard had given his mother. But the only thing the Eleventh Prince could do at the moment was walk forward and sink into a kneel beside his older brother.

Crossing their arms over their chests in a gesture of fealty, the pair of princes bowed their heads and spoke in clear, carefully confident unison. "Hail, Your Majesty." Lelouch spared a glance upward through his dark bangs, only to see the Emperor staring back at him with a bored expression.

Save for the challenge burning in those violet eyes, so like Lelouch's own. And Lelouch knew in that moment that it was no mistake that he had been announced the way he had been. It was a deliberate gauntlet thrown down in his face. It was enough to make him heady with resentment, as if the Emperor had looked down at him from an ivory tower and smirked.

' _Do you see boy? You do not even have the right to throw away the things I have given to you.'_

"Rise." One bored word echoed through the silent throne room.

As the two princes climbed back to their feet, the on looking collection of Royals and nobility didn't even dare to breathe a word of gossip. It was one thing to quickly and quietly trade a few words when one mundane concern or another came before the Emperor and his Council, but one very public and very bloody example had ensured that none would dare disrespect their absolute monarch when Charles zi Britannia took personal interest in some affair. And if the focused stare over a deceptively bored face was any indication, the Emperor was very interested in the return of his prodigal son.

Nevertheless, it was to his older son that the Britannian monarch turned to speak to. "What's your business here, Schneizel?" The callous purple gaze that marked the Imperial Family pinned the blond prince.

Lowering his head in a submissive gesture, Schneizel ignored the urge to glare at his father's polished boots. "Your majesty, I have come to petition for custody of my siblings. Now that Empress Marianne has been lost to us, Lelouch and Nunnally have no guardian."

The Emperor waved him off with an impatient hand. "I have no interest in this matter. Do as you will. Now begone."

Schneizel murmured a low "Yes, your majesty." Rising to his feet in a graceful gesture, the Second Prince retreated to mingle in the whispering crowd of nobility. Lelouch would have to speak for himself, and the only thing Schneizel could offer him was the silent support of his presence.

Raging internally, Lelouch mirrored Schneizel's earlier deference and found himself staring at the Emperor's boots. So caught up in his turbulent fury, the Eleventh Prince almost missed Charles' cutting tone.

"State your business."

"Your majesty." Lelouch forced out, wincing at the strained note in his voice before forcing a more modulated pitch. Rudeness would gain him nothing but danger to himself and Nunnally at this juncture. "I, Lelouch vi Britannia, have returned."

"What of it?"

 _Bastard_. The young prince simmered silently. The pitiless monarch obviously was contented with his pride over any sort of parental concern. "And I humbly beg your forgiveness for my words when last I came before you. They were unbefitting of a Prince of the Empire." A collective hush hung in the air as the court circled the unfolding events for political benefit.

"You are forgiven." Smugness curled through the Emperor's voice, the facade of benevolent royalty so obviously fake as to be amusing for him. "I see that you have learned your lesson in respect, boy. Now begone from my sight. Waste no more of my time on this matter."

"Yes, your majesty." Lelouch muttered, rising to his feet but maintaining a submissive pose as he retreated from the throne room. Gritting his teeth against the urge to simply scream at the uncaring bastard that sired him, the Eleventh Prince fled.

* * *

Lelouch took three steps into his brother's study before collapsing against the wall like a puppet with his strings cut. Warmth encircled him as Kanon scooped up the tired prince and dumped him unceremoniously on Schneizel's nineteenth century Venetian chaise. Turning away from the pity he saw in the personal assistant's face, Lelouch pressed his face into the cool fabric and groaned tiredly.

"You and I both, dear brother." Schneizel smiled amicably, even as he unstopped the crystal decanter of brandy on the mantelpiece and poured himself a generous dollop of alcohol. Throwing it back with the ease of an experienced connoisseur, the White Prince poured a second glass before throwing himself into his armchair in an ungainly sprawl.

Dismissing Kanon with a nod, Schneizel sipped carefully as he observed the boneless form of his favourite sibling. Part of him wanted to simply wrap the vi Britannia's up in warm blankets and shield them from the world. Or at the least give Lelouch some time to emotionally recover. But that part of him was quickly silenced by the ruthless politician in him that knew _now_ was the best time to place Lelouch on his board.

"So." He began in a bright and cheerful tone. "I suppose it's time we start discussing our revolution?" Lelouch rolled about so quickly at the blatant mention of treason that the boy got caught up in the tangle of his ruffled purple cape.

"I'm not your pawn, Schneizel". Lelouch declared coldly, narrowing his eyes into a burning glare. It was hardly a secret that the Second Prince was a strong contender for the imperial throne, despite Odysseus and his two sons. "Don't think simply because you're my legal guardian that I'm going to dance along on your strings."

Sipping another mouthful of brandy, Schneizel set it aside to lean forward earnestly. "When did I suggest that you were going to be a pawn to me, brother?" White fabric was smooth over his knees in a gesture of faux anxiety. "I have in mind to make you a king."

Lelouch snorted, shuffling himself upright and propping his feet up on Schneizel's antique cocktail table. The Eleventh Prince smirked mirthlessly at the unrestrained wince that crossed his brother's face when his shoes scuffed the polished surface. "Dispense with the platitudes. You and I both know that there can only be one king. It's hardly in my interest to put you on the throne and then get assassinated to tie up loose ends."

A brush of cold fury crossed Schneizel's expression at the accusation of such blatant inhumanity. But the Second Prince could hardly dispute that in certain circumstances, he would do away with a sibling. Even one as enjoyable as Lelouch. That was neither here nor there, however. "You forget that life is not a chess game little brother. There is no reason two or more kings cannot co-exist, provided that they're not going to sacrifice each other in the name of blind ambition."

"Now." Schneizel continued, holding up a hand to silence whatever retort Lelouch had been about to offer. "When I offer to make you my equal I mean it. I've known you since you were in the cradle, Lelouch. You've never been given to power hunger or ambition, or treachery for that matter. We have compatible goals, and there is no reason you and I would ever need to come into conflict. Much less deadly conflict."

"I still don't understand why you'd offer anything to me." Lelouch replied after a long beat. "You might know me Schneizel, but I know you too. I know you desire the throne itself, regardless of whatever moral platitude you've conjured up to justify it to yourself."

Thinning his lips at having his very deep-seated and very real convictions dismissed as platitudes, Schneizel wrestled his ire under the cool control that made him such an effective politician. "Maybe so, Lelouch. But it's better to have you as my ally - you could be a very fearsome enemy. And more than that. Out of all our siblings, you act like me. You _think_ like me. There is no one else I could rely on to make the choices I would make when I myself am elsewhere."

"Dismantle Darwinism."

"Pardon?"

"End the promotion of 'progress' over basic humanity by the government." Lelouch elaborated. "Dismantle the Numbers system when you become Emperor. If you can do that, I'll join you."

"Done." Schneizel smirked openly at the shock that crossed Lelouch's face. "Surely you don't think that Britannians as a whole agree with our father's social policies? I'll even give you Japan to sweeten the deal. It's far less than I was willing to offer for your cooperation."

Sighing in resignation at both the inevitability of the defeat of the country he'd grown to love and at being so shunted into his place as a political piece, Lelouch gamely screwed on an expression of anticipation.

"When do we start?"

* * *

Lelouch woke from his nightmare of burning flesh with a disoriented shout. The door burst open a second later as a turquoise haired knight barrelled into the room. Orange eyes darted frantically about the room in search of threats before settling on the sweat soaked prince.

"Are you alright, your highness?" the man asked cautiously. Shoving his handgun into a holster at his hip, the knight stood stiffly, betraying his military training.

"Yes." Lelouch growled out, voice hoarse from screaming. "Get out."

The knight offered a searching gaze before bowing low. "Yes, your highness." The door shut behind the man with a click, silence filling the air.

The Eleventh Prince dug his palms into gritty eyes. God must hate his family. Mother dead, sister blind and crippled. A cruel and absentee father. Born into a social class that loathed the commoner blood in their veins. First _and_ second homes lost to blood and murder. His only true friend likely dead in a ditch, or wandering through a war zone.

" _Damn it_ , Suzaku." Lelouch muttered to the empty room. " _Damn it_."Heat burned in the back of his eyelids, and the boy only dug his palms deeper into his eye sockets to prevent the spilling of tears. Weeping had never gained him anything, and he couldn't afford to give into weakness now. Nunnally needed him to be strong.

Throwing himself out of bed, Lelouch hastily stumbled into the shower for a quick scrubbing. It was only just after six in the morning, and he was still tired from running nearly two days sleeplessly since the invasion of Japan. But the only thing waiting for him between the sheets was more subconscious horrors.

Lelouch cast a gimlet eye about the room as he stepped back out of the shower. No need to give the man a show if the knight had returned to hover in his bedroom. The room was alone however, and the Eleventh Prince quickly padded across to open the armoire.

It was a testament to Schneizel's arrogance that he'd had bedrooms and clothes stocked for his vi Brittannia siblings before they had even been brought back to the homeland. Evidently the Second Prince had been so confident in his ability to convince the Emperor to make them his wards that he hadn't even waited for a set deadline of their return.

Pulling on a pair of black trousers and a white button up shirt, Lelouch raked a hand through his still wet strands in an effort to grant them some semblance of order. He gave it up as a bad job. His mother was dead and his sister was blind, and at this point, Lelouch couldn't be bothered to give a damn what anyone else thought of it.

When Lelouch wandered out into the corridors of Schneizel's manse, the knight that had burst in on him after his nightmare immediately stepped up behind him and began to follow. The feeling of eyes digging into the back of his head was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Whirling about, Lelouch craned up to stare right back at the man. "Who are you, and what do you want?" He snarled. Taking in the look of surprise that faded to shame, the Eleventh Prince raised a brow as the man lowered his head in obeisance.

"Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald, Your Highness. I was a member of Empress Marianne's Royal Guard." Lelouch closed his eyes at that, beating back the roaring in his ears and that lonely clenching of his heart that cried out _mother_ , _mother_. "I failed Her Highness, to my everlasting shame. I humbly beg your forgiveness."

"You are _not_ forgiven." Glaring up at the knight, Lelouch took vindictive pleasure in the deepening pain in the man's eyes. "Get out of my sight."

Jeremiah went.

* * *

"You're still sleeping on the couch."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Marianne."

Twisting the last curl into his 'ridiculously archaic' coiffure – as his favourite wife was so fond of describing it – Charles zi Britannia left the white strands alone to stare at his not-so-deceased Fifth Empress.

It still struck him like a knife in the ribs at times. To turn about unconsciously expecting to see Marianne's pale features and vibrant violent irises lit up with her unique brand of wicked humour. Only to find the typically apathetic face of Anya Alstreim wearing his wife's emotions on her face instead.

Some measure of his inner turmoil must have leaked out, because the amusement drained away to be replaced with a look of melancholy. "Ah Charles." She murmured, still high and clear with a young girl's voice. Marianne leaned ahead to wrap one of his large hands in Anya's elfin grip. "When are you going to stop blaming yourself for Vincent's foolishness?"

"I don't." The 98th Emperor of Britannia denied. And his didn't. Charles had _trusted_ Vincent. Trusted his immortal older twin brother not to lie to him or betray him. They'd grown together under the long shadow of murder, rising through loss and the Emblem of Blood to rule the realm together. It still cut deep to remember having to encapsulate V.V. in order to contain the murderously jealous blonde. The only other way would have been to steal Vincent's Code. But neither Emperor nor Fifth Empress had any particular hunger for immortality.

"Then what are you moping about for?"

Charles narrowed a stern glare at his wife. "I'm not." The Emperor was a non-demonstrative man. So it didn't matter that Vincent's selfishness had robbed them of decades of trust between them. It was irrelevant that he and Marianne had lost however many of their uncounted mortal years it would take to successfully clone his wife a new body to Geass into. Or that C.C. had stabbed them in the back by up and vanishing one day with nary a trace. Charles most certainly did _not_ mope.

The look Marianne gave back was full of disbelief and scorn. "Whatever you say, Mister I'm-a-big-bad-Emperor." Placing one hand on a prepubescent hip so she could wag a chiding finger up at the tower Emperor, Marianne only added to the image of dissonance created by her actions in Anya's body. "Don't think I'm going to let you off easily for what you did to my Lula and Nunna."

Rolling his eyes at the thoroughly stale argument, Charles turned away to straighten a wrinkle in his collar. "I've told you as thousand times woman. It'll toughen the boy up." The Emperor had seen the desolate rage in their son's eyes despite the little prince's attempts to pretend otherwise. That kind of fire would hopefully temper the snivelling brat into a fine man. _Someone_ had to follow him on the throne, and most of his other children were utter disappointments. "As for Nunnally, I've never so much a raised my voice at the girl. If anything, the time away from court was good for her, and the Kururugi's were as an acceptable place as any to ship her off to."

"And _I've_ told _you_ a thousand times that your parenting skills leave _much_ to be desired."

"Schneizel turned out well enough."

"Schneizel is a pantywaist with a god complex!"

Well, Charles couldn't truly disagree. His second son had a rare genius about him, but the boy had no desires or real passions of his own. It was like water ran in Schneizel's veins. The boy had none of the thirst for battle or urge for conquest that would mark an impressive Emperor. In fact, if not for the mandatory paternity tests all newborn royal children were subject to, Charles would doubt he'd actually fathered him. However, to admit that would be allow Marianne to win. So the Emperor chose a different track.

"Cornelia is strong. Even you can't disagree with that."

"So she is." Marianne agreed mildly, buffing her nails over her blouse. "Which makes sense considering I had a far bigger hand in raising her than you did."

"I'm going to the throne room."

"You're still sleeping on the couch tonight."

"Good." The Emperor muttered as he stepped out the door. "Seeing as how I'm no pedophile, I might even have a decent night's sleep.

" _Charles_!"

* * *

Lelouch looked tired. Beaten down. Ragged. Tired. Old before his time. The only positive quality Clovis could ascribe to him at the moment was that at the least his favourite brother did not look _defeated_. Bent under the crucible his life must have become, but not destroyed by it.

Waving off a hovering maidservant, Clovis dismissed Schneizel's staff with an imperious glare. They'd been served a fine earl grey, and there was no immediate need for any further service. The Third Prince had no desire to have the Second Prince's little spies fluttering about, even if he doubted much would pass within Aquarius Villa that Schneizel didn't eventually find out about.

"It's been a long time, little brother." Clovis cut in once the door clicked quietly shut. It _had_ been a long time seen he'd seen the ten year old. The last he'd seen his brother had been a week before Aunt Mari's assassination. The vi Britannia children hadn't even been permitted to stay for the funeral before they'd been whisked off to Japan.

It had been the first time in his seventeen years that he'd known choking, disconsolate rage.

"So it has." Lelouch agreed, gulping down his tea with all the grace of an uncouth commoner trying to leave the table as fast as possible. Clovis' sense of respectability winced inwardly. If not for the distress he knew that Lelouch was concealing, Clovis would have been stung by his younger brother's obvious desire to flee from him.

"Where is Nunnally?"

"She's with Euphy at the moment."

Which was good. As much as Clovis longed to see his little sister, the Third Prince had his hands full enough with the sheer task that would be putting Lelouch back together. Euphemia was kind and cheerful and likely everything Nunnally would need at the moment. Lelouch would require something more. The Eleventh Prince had already made the decision to shut everyone out for their protection and his. What utter nonsense.

"And Cornelia?"

"Speaking to Schneizel about something or other."

"Hmm." Daintily sipping his tea, Clovis gave a strained half-smile and rose to his feet. "I brought a gift for you." Gingerly scooping up the oilskin wrapped package that had been nudging against the arm of his chair, he stalked toward his brother.

"What is it?" Lelouch asked, all watchful wariness as the older prince crossed over.

Pushing the tea set out of the way, Clovis settled the rectangular package in front of Lelouch. "You'll see." Oilskin peeled back, and Lelouch made a strangled noise. It was a painting.

Ever since he was a child, Clovis had adored art. The Third Prince had no head or passion for military tactics, economics, or history. But even in the crib Clovis had been delighted with the messy squiggles he could make on the walls with his food.

Gabrielle la Britannia had noticed, and from there his mother only encouraged the interest. The finest tutors in Britannia had taught Clovis how to put ink to canbas. He'd learned to direct a symphony by the tender age of eight. By eleven, Clovis was writing essays on Milton and Dante to be published under the pseudonym 'Louis C. Martell'.

What the Third Prince had given the Eleventh was the first work of his hands with the mark of his true name. The beginning of what would be many artworks to bear the name of Clovis la Britannia.

_Aries Garden._

Marianne vi Britannia stared back up at them. Sitting at a table in one of the lush aerial garden that made the Imperial Villa at Aeries so notable, the image of the Fifth Empress had her hands folded in her lap. Violet eyes were alight with the same humor that curled one corner of his rosy mouth.

Nunnally and Euphemia sat curled in the grass at Marianne's feet. The two princesses were happy and whole, both turned out to stare at the viewer with identical expression of innocent cherubic joy. It was Nunnally as she used to be, with eyes that could take in the world and working legs to explore it with.

In the background Lelouch and Clovis roughhoused beneath a great sprawling oak. The painted Clovis was stepping away, a black rook piece clenched between his fingers and with his mouth open in the beginnings of teasing laughter. The painted Lelouch reached out in an effort to capture his elder's elbow, mouth curved into a reluctant wry smirk that was identical to the one sported by his mother.

Life and innocence and joy, such as their broken family would never see again. All the bittersweet imagery mingled with the pain of loss and frozen forever in a tableau of colour and oil.

"I can't." Lelouch choked out, throwing himself back with a note of desperation in his voice. A thick sob bubbled up from Lelouch as he twisted away from the image of what they'd never have again.

Leaning over the back of the chair, Clovis wrapped his arms around Lelouch's thin shaking shoulders. "It's okay Lelouch." He muttered, low and soothing. "It's okay to cry."

Lelouch broke, filling the air with fitful gasps and quiet sobs.

* * *

" _He's not your friend anymore."_

Every time Suzaku thought of Lelouch, he remembered General Katase sneering down at him. The Kururugi heir had vehemently protested when the man raised the question of executing the vi Britannia children in retaliation after the invasion. The look his father had given him had been full of disappointment, and his father's advisors treated him like an ignorant child. As if he didn't know the political purpose that would have led to his best friend being executed.

It was the first time in a week he'd seen his father, and that was when Suzaku became glad Britannian special forces had taken his friends away. Regardless of how degenerate Pendragon was and how much of a snake pit the Imperial Court was, at least it wasn't full of angry and murderous Japanese.

Three weeks after the Second Pacific War began, Suzaku was in Kyushu with Kaguya and Aika-oba. It hadn't taken much effort at all to convince his cousin to join him in spying on the room where his father and generals were meeting. Hence why they were huddled by the door, with a hand on their mouths lest they _breathe_ too loudly and alert the adults that they were listening to the conversation.

"Loses are mounting. Tohdoh managed to pull a victory out of thin air at Itsukushima, but we've lost every single skirmish before and since then."

"Damn Glasgows... any possibility of building some of our own, or at least throwing something together to take them out?"

"No dice. The Britannians have made a point of targeting our manufacturing, and that damned Kirihara went and defected a few hours ago."

"Fuck." Came a third voice, drained and annoyed. "I need a drink."

"Kubouin and Munakata went over to Britannia yesterday." The Prime Minister pointed out as glasses clinked audibly. "The Brits have annexed Hokkaido entirely, and half of Honshu is burning. Food production and armament manufacturing is in the gutter. We're coming apart at the seams. At this rate, the Brits can simply sit back and starve us out."

"Kusakabe's been bloodying them up there. It's a bit difficult to sit back with some prissy wine and watch the 'subhumans' starve to death when your forward bases are exploding in the middle of the night."

"If we can hold out until the Federation or the Union intervenes, we might still be able to win this. The supply situation is dire, but it's not critical yet. If we don't take any more losses, we can still leg it for a few months on military rations."

Genbu's voice lowered to a disappointed growl, forcing Kaguya and Suzaku to strain to hear him. "I've already tried that avenue. Ambassador Huang made quite a show of jerking us around before running back to China with his tail between his legs. Mitterand was clear from the outset not to expect anything from Europe. We're alone."

"Not necessarily," a fourth voice pointed out. It was the voice of a far younger man than the others that had spoken so far, and Suzaku placed it as Tanaka Kiichi, Japan's Minister for Foreign Affairs. "The longer the war drags on the greater the chance is that the Union or the Federation will change their minds. China has been less than sanguine about the establishment of Area Ten, and Europe has been at odds with Britannia since Napoleon. If we can inflict some defeats on the so-called 'unbeatable' Britannian war machine, there's a great chance of inspiring aid."

"You'd be trading one master for another. This is a war over Sakuradite, not simply Britannia's usual imperialism. Everyone wants a piece of what we have, and they'd only chase the Brits out for their own slice of the pie." Genbu sighed wearily. The floor creaked as people shuffled about the Prime Minister's study.

"So what are we supposed to do then?"

"We fight to the end."

And they did. Japan fought one long and bloody month as Britannia's knightmare frames ground the nation into the dirt. It fought until Kururugi Genbu was found one morning with his own dagger in his guts.

* * *

Three months after the surrender of Japan, Duke Richard Festarr of Westermont was made Viceroy of the newly established Area Eleven. Lelouch would remember the day eternally.

The Eleventh Prince woke to the news as he was eating a light breakfast of buttered toast. Nunnally was still abed, the young girl being a later sleeper than her brother, and Lelouch didn't quite have the heart to shake her awake yet.

Staring at the television with rage, Lelouch seethed and seethed and seethed.

Conveying the newly appointed Viceroy through the still ruined streets of Tokyo was a military parade in the manner of old Roman Triumphs. Duke Festarr smiled winningly for the camera, his crisp uniform spotless with the emblazoned insignia of a full general prominent on the man's shoulders. The noble that had commanded the invasion of Japan was afterwards rewarded with governance of the newly formed Area. In the end, it was just more salt in the wound for the conquered Japanese.

It was a disgusting testament to the victory of the Empire and of glory to its Emperor. It was also, Lelouch conceded grudgingly, an effect statement of power to bolster the morale of occupying forces and dishearten the still active guerilla rebels.

Seizing the remote, Lelouch turned off the television with a last sneer of disgust. The young royal turned a morose gaze down to the last bite of toast in his hands.

Four months of watching the news. Four months of nary a peep about Suzaku or any of the members of the Kururugi Clan, sans the ex-Prime Minister. Genbu's suicide had been quite the shock to Lelouch, who had been sure the gruff but kind man had been the sort to fight to the end. For pride, if nothing else.

Even Genbu's death failed to make much of a splash in the Britannian media outside of the political cartoons that derided the man's so-called barbarism and cowardice. As far as the Britannian Empire was concerned, Genbu had no connections or family to speak of. Concerns about family were a _human_ thing after all, and in the view of Britannia the Elevens were just animals. There was no need to consider the children of a beast after the monster himself had been slain.

Shoving the last bit of bread crust in his mouth, Lelouch pushed aside his maudlin musings. He had exams to write, and get worked up and depressed over the monstrosity of Britannia and his father wouldn't be conductive to his success.

Schneizel had been rather insistent that Lelouch bulldoze his way through as many educational certifications as he could. No one would happily follow a boy without a high school diploma into battle, or agitate in favour of a prince that had yet to complete some amount of studies to prove his intelligence. Education was simply another form of social capital, and from the highest noble to the lowest commoner, Britannia loved a winner.

Hence completing his middle school exams a few years early.

Abandoning his used dishes on the kitchen counter – Schneizel's housekeeping staff would take care of it – Lelouch wandered back out into the halls of Aquarius Villa.

Gottwald stepped up behind him. The knight had become a near constant figure in Lelouch's life since returning from Japan, and no matter how sharp Lelouch's tongue became or how degrading his insults, Gottwald only winced and bore on. The sheer loyalty given despite the constant abuse was humbling, and more than that, it made Lelouch ashamed. He wasn't acting like the person his mother had tried to raise him to become.

If he were anyone but Lelouch vi Britannia, he would have long since apologized for his abdominable behavior towards the man. But then again, if he wasn't Lelouch vi Britannia it was highly unlikely that Gottwald would have ever come to serve him anyway.

"Come along, Jeremiah." His tongue was thick and graceless in his mouth. Apologies were impossible for the Eleventh Prince. Acknowledgement was all that his ego could bear to give. Lelouch had come too fast and too far in attempting to close himself in a steel fortress to reach out sincerely to another.

"Yes, your highness."

Gottwald would probably understand anyway. The man seemed to have a tendency to do that.

* * *

"Bleh!"

"Nuna!"

Smiling behind the rim of her teacup, Cornelia watched her two younger sisters bicker in their typically good-natured way. It was nice to see Nunnally acting more and more like her old self as the horror she'd experienced during the start of the Second Pacific War grew more distant. It had been the same after the assassination of Empress Marianne – Nunnally seemed to possess a surprising resilience and ability to bounce back after trauma so long as she was supported with kindness and love.

Children were truly amazing things.

Though that statement could be pre-emptive, considering that unlike his sister Lelouch had refused all attempts at providing professional therapy in favour of pretending he was made of steel. It worried Cornelia. She might be twenty years old and only a newly minted Colonel, but the Second Princess had seen her fair share of soldiers cracking under the strain of their own emotions.

"Don't you think so, Nelly? Euphemia cut across her older sister's musings with a grin. The Third Princess' grin widened into an outright smirk as Cornelia blinked in befuddlement, obviously having drifted off and having no idea what she was talking about.

"Uh, yes. Of course."

"Really? Well, let's go then!"

Hopping to her feet, Euphemia gave a happy whirl before trotting off. Cornelia stared after the Third Princess in vague confusion, before striding around the table to push Nunnally after their sister. She loved Euphemia, but that didn't mean that Cornelia understood all of her queer whims and odds flights of fancy.

"You weren't paying attention, were you?"

"Of course I was."

Nunnally blew a raspberry, shaking her head in mock exasperation. "We both know that's not true, Nelly. If it were, you'd have never agreed to take us shopping for new clothes." The Fifth Princess picked mournfully at the skirt of her white frock. "Why you hate it so much, I'll never know."

Cornelia almost stumbled in horror. _Clothes_ _shopping_? She was a woman like any other, and appreciated dressing nicely. But the Second Princess was more than aware of the sheer terror Euphy could be when it came to looking for new dresses. Everyone had to try _everything_ on!

Puffy frills and billowing skirts? Ridiculously tight corsets and pinching pins? Fluttering seamstresses wringing their hands and forever offering adjustments? Bows and ties? Matching this style and that style into horrendous eye-gouging combinations? And always the pink. Pink underwear. Pink socks. Pink dresses and pink bows. It haunted her dreams.

"I refuse."

"Too late!" Euphy gleefully shouted.

* * *

In.

Out.

There was no smell. There was no pain. There was no light. He was encased in pure darkness, collected and cramped in black metal so tightly there was barely an inch to move any of his limbs. The only sound was his own ragged breaths, cycling in the dark silence, and his pulse, blood leisurely pumping through his timeless veins.

_Charles..._

V.V. blinked, wetting his dry purple irises in one of the only moves he could still make. Something so pathetic and mundane was all the freedom that was left to Vincent. Lie in the dark with his eyes open or closed. Flicker his empty sight uselessly about. Breathe slowly or breathe quickly.

It was madness.

Surely, _surely,_ it had been years since he'd locked in this accursed capsule? Surely Charles didn't intend to leave him imprisoned for eternity? Even if Vincent had lied to his brother, surely affection remained? V.V. would surely be released after his brother felt he'd served some suitable punishment for attempted to do away with that meddlesome wench Charles called his wife?

Without Vincent, the Geass Directorate would crumble. Oh Charles would seize control of it and weaponize their experiments, but without V.V. there was no way to bestow further Geass Contracts. C.C. had up and vanished after it became clear Marianne had no desire to fulfill her wish.

He wished he'd spoken more to the green haired witch. Perhaps she could have taught him how to mentally connect with one of his many contractors. Charles and Bismarck would never aid him, but one of the little tools he'd gifted with power in the Directorate would have jumped to obey him.

It was the only move left to him. Spinning his focus about the dark recesses of his own sanity, Vincent grit his teeth in the void.

_Charles, I'm coming for you._

No one - not even his own brother - was allowed to get away with striking out at Vincent. No one.

* * *

"Good day, your highness."

"Good day, Lord Stadtfeld."

Dropping the phone back in its cradle with a click, Schneizel scooped up a white pawn chess piece and began to roll it between his fingers in thought.

Nathan Stadtfeld was the Second Prince's newest acquisition. The noble was the only living male-line descendent of his grandfather, the elderly Earl of Stadtfeld. Just shy of thirty, the nobleman would have been famous in noble circles for the scandal of going native and marrying a Japanese woman during a business posting in Osaka had had the Stadtfeld family not firmly crushed any rumours about the activities of their prodigal son. Nathan would likely have been easily forgotten about, if not for the sudden death of his uncle from suicide after his cousin became a casualty in the Invasion of Japan.

Suddenly the maverick nobleman had become the only hope for the two hundred year old family to continue into the next generation. The first of the Stadtfelds had been one of Emperor Ricardo von Britannia's 'soldier sons', or the new noble families the Emperor had raised in reward for military service in the dark days after Napoleon had chased the Britannian Remnants out of Britain.

Earl Stadtfeld had been quite insistent that his grandson return to the fold, abandon his 'mixed breed spawn', and marry a Britannian woman of appropriate breeding. Nathan had, of course, refused vehemently. The young noble had barely enough funds squirreled away to flee to Europe or China with his bi-racial family, though they would have been forced into poverty. Which was where Schneizel came in.

Naoto Kozuki became Nathan Stadtfeld the Younger, and Kallen Kozuki became Kallen Stadtfeld. Rin Kozuki became the never married maid of the Tokyo-based businessman, and Katherine Howe became the loving wife of Nathan Stadtfeld the Elder and the 'devoted mother' of his two children. The elderly Earl of Stadtfeld gained two male line heirs to replace the two he'd lost, with the taint of his great-grandchildren's Japanese ancestry was carefully buried with altered documents and photos. And of course, all concerned parties became indebted to the Second Prince.

Now all that remained was to decide what to do with the newest piece he'd acquired for his board. Twirling the white pawn again in his fingers, Schneizel gave a nonchalant shrug before dropping it amongst numerous other white pieces on his enormous custom-made board. Silent support seemed the best choice for now.

It would be _many_ years before Schneizel moved against the 98th Emperor. Who better to usher in an age of world peace than the pristine White Prince that had overthrown the cruel and imperialistic Charles zi Britannia? And if in the years before the White Prince took the throne from him, that magnificent and terrible conqueror rose Britannia to become the world's hyperpower – well, who could complain?

Who better to rule the world?

* * *

' _NEW TRADE DEAL PREVENTS GLOBAL WAR!'_

Tossing the newspaper away with a snort, C.C. rolled her eyes before turning away from the news stand and stepping back into the press of the crowd. Charles had managed to win again, it seemed. And all without the overt or obvious use of Geass to coerce the other nations into bowing to the 98th Britannian Emperor's every whim. He truly was an interesting child.

C.C. allowed herself to be swept along by the moving press of bodies that made up the daily pedestrian traffic of Hong Kong. The stink of obvious fear that had hung over the Chinese Federation was finally dissipating. Perhaps the High Eunuchs wouldn't have cared about it, but few of the commoners were motivated to die by the droves for the sake of Sakuradite that had little impact on their daily feudalistic lives.

The child Tianzi was of course, a non-player in all the politics involve.

Yellow eyes flickered lazily about, assessing a dismissing people by the dozens. C.C. was on the prowl for a new contractor to fulfill her one true wish, but no one so far had struck her fancy as a possibility. They were all too mundane and _normal_. Raising her handpicked child up to be a killer had proved to be an unmitigated disaster in the case of Mao, so C.C. didn't even truly have the option of growing her own contractor, so-to-speak.

Decisions, decisions...

A faint tickle built up in C.C.'s temple as Marianne began her daily ritual of attempting to break into the Code Bearer's mind. Ever since Vincent had gone and attempted to murder the Fifth Empress because of his admittedly hilarious (at least to her) brother complex, there hadn't been a Code Bearer around to generate living weapons for the Britannian Empire. Almost all of the superpower's military victories could be attributed to the power of the state and Charles' rare genius, but it was the Geass Directorate that acted as the Emperor's black hand to create opportunities for him.

Which was all irrelevant to C.C. Marianne had been amusing enough, for a contractor. But the lime-haired woman hardly felt anywhere near obligated to drop her own mission in order to help Marianne and her hubby out. Britannia would just have to move forward on its own.

C.C. had a contractor to find and pizza to eat.

* * *

"My apologies, your highness. I've been unable to find out the fate of the Kururugi family through any of my sources."

"I see."

Jeremiah watched as his liege bit his thumb in thought. Lelouch was sprawled out in a leather swivel chair behind a looming desk that was truthfully too large for the Eleventh Prince. It made the boy look like a precocious infant. Not that Margarve Gottwald would ever dare tell his liege such an insulting thing.

There were only the two of them in Lelouch's study after all. It was his master's prerogative if he wanted to drown in oversized furniture away from the public eye.

"I suppose I will have to just ask Schneizel."

"Yes, your highness." Jeremiah agreed somewhat helplessly, because truly, what else was there for him to do? Suggest the Eleventh Prince _not_ make use of his current benefactor? The First Lieutenant still didn't understand why his lord was so adamant about locating an Eleven – the former Prime Minister of Japan's son at that – but it wasn't for him to question.

Only to obey.

Stepping away from his post by the door, Jeremiah stepped in behind Lelouch as the boy trotted out of the study he'd been gifted by his elder brother and followed the prince through the halls of the Villa. Even so young, Jeremiah could see the expressions and charisma his liege had inherited from Empress Marianne. Fervently, the knight internally once more that he would protect the Eleventh Prince against every enemy.

Even if that enemy was the Emperor himself.

Lelouch knocked twice on the door to Schneizel's study before letting himself in without bothering to wait for assent. Slipping in behind the prince, Jeremiah spared a wary glance for the Second Prince's assistant-slash-assassin Kanon Maldini before shutting the door with a quiet click.

"And what brings you to my humble abode today, little brother?" Schneizel queried with a winning smile. Jeremiah didn't trust that smile. Schneizel el Britannia may truly care for Empress Marianne's children, but the man had so much ice-water in his veins Jeremiah could never be sure what the blonde prince was truly feeling.

"I want you to locate Suzaku Kururugi for me."

Schneizel's purple eyes narrowed, a frown tugging down the corners of his mouth before shaking his head slowly. "I refuse." Snapping his fingers to cut off the tirade Lelouch was going to launch into if the enraged expression on his face was any indication, Schneizel huffed. "Just what do you think would happen if Imperial Intelligence located the only son of Japan's Last Prime Minister? I assure you that boy is on someone's kill-on-sight list."

A tense muscle jumped in Lelouch's jaw as the younger prince clenched his hands into impotent fists. Jeremiah turned away from the flash of desolate rage he caught in his liege's eyes, fixing a faint grimace on the Lord Privy Seal. "So I should just sit around and do _nothing_?" Marianne's son grit out after a silent minute, forcing the words out.

"Precisely." Threading his elegant fingers together fingers together, Schneizel leaned forward with an earnest look on his face. "If your friend remains alive, Lelouch, don't you think it would be for the best to keep him that way? This is of course, assuming the son of the last Prime Minister of Japan would even be willing to continue a friendship with the son of the Emperor that destroyed his country. It would be better to wait several years to give the Kururugi family time to safely fade away from the spotlight before you go and dig them back up again."

Lelouch's nostrils flared in a final expression of anger before the prince slammed down the emotionless mask he'd been adopting more and more as time went on. The raven gave his brother a short nod before turning about sharply and departing Schneizel's study.

"Such an impatient boy, don't you agree, Lord Gottwald?"

Jeremiah barely restrained the urge to give the Second Prince a dirty look.

* * *

"Attention all passengers. Please remove all audio device and fasten your seatbelts as we prepare for landing."

With his fingers instinctively craving a thick roll of rich tobacco, Ruben Ashford clinched the seatbelt around his waist before sinking back into the cramped airliner chair. It was noticeably poorer than the quality he'd grown up accustomed to, but as the slightly threadbare nature of his tweed jacket might suggest, the grey-haired man wasn't a noble any longer.

Sighing at the ever-present reminders of his family's loss of status, Ruben ignored the popping in his ears that signalled the plane's descent. Truthfully, Ruben was too old and worn out to care about his own status any longer. He still possessed the accumulated fortune of the Ashford family, and could easily enjoy a quiet and comfortable retirement until he died.

But that would leave his grandchildren out in the cold. Ruben was far more aware of the stratification of social classes in the empire than any commoner looking from the bottom up was. Growing up and being taught to teach the majority of the nation as faceless masses truly hammered that in for him. Which meant that Ruben was very aware that while nobility might mean little to him, it meant safety and security for Milly.

The spunky little girl was truly the apple of his eye, and Ruben couldn't quite restrain the fond smile that pulled across his face. If he had to compare her to anyone, Milly reminded him more than a little of the vivacious and tragically deceased Empress Marianne. Even if introducing the commoner soldier to the Emperor had gained the Ashfords enemies that had barely waited until the Fifth Empress was cold in the ground to strike, Ruben didn't regret a single moment of it.

But it did mean that he'd have to lean on old friends and call in dusty favours in order to marry Milly above her current social class. It was most unfortunate that with the loss of his titles came the loss of his ability to easily get messages to the Royal Family. Lelouch was a kind boy the last time they'd met, even if Ruben found the Eleventh Prince to be frighteningly intelligent, and he'd likely grow up to be a fine young man if the vipers of the court didn't corrupt him first.

Ruben would have been glad to entrust Milly to such a man. Not until they were both at least thirty years old of course, and even after marriage he'd have hung the boy for even considering laying lecherous hands on his granddaughter.

"Welcome to the New Tokyo International Airport. You may now unfasten your seatbelts and proceed in an orderly fashion off the plane."

Ruben huffed in vague amusement. Ah well, out with the old plans and in with the new. He'd come to Tokyo to take a look around and consider laying down roots in the newly established Area Eleven. There were always opportunities for those with the stomach to search for them after a recent conquest.

Perhaps building an Academy would be nice...


	2. TRANSITUS

_Transitus;_

_[A] Passage, Crossing, Transition._

* * *

Lelouch was thirteen years old when Schneizel el Britannia became the Prime Minister of the Holy Britannian Empire.

Unlike the democratic European Union, the Holy Britannian Empire was an unapologetic autocracy. Hence, succession to the office of Prime Minister was governed not by election, but by appointment at the whim of its sovereign. Bloodline, money, status, and political alliances mattered more than the will of a commoner majority.

Though not even Charles zi Britannia was enough of a fool to appoint someone universally loathed by the people to be the face of his bureaucracy.

The inevitable squabbling over ascension to the prestigious office began before the body of the Earl of Galveston was even cold. As soon as word broke out in the halls of power half an hour after the 77-year-old nobleman died of cerebral hemorrhage, Schneizel had abandoned his government office to flee home and immediately begin leaning on the allies he'd collected over the years.

The new Earl of Stadfeld. The Viceroy of Area 10, Henry Rosenblad. The prodigiously genius Earl of Asplund. The Witch of Britannia. The former Knight of Two, Michele Manfredi. The famously unambitious Crown Prince of Britannia himself. And other names both great and small.

Schneizel had also taken the chance to smear the reputations of a few of the Emperor's old guard. The Lord Treasurer had found himself in a sudden and persistent scandal involving drug trafficking. High Court Judge de Valady became embroiled in controversy as her deviant pedophiliac sexual predilections were smattered across the internet, earning a deep and ongoing legal investigation.

The results were inevitable after Schneizel put his mind to it. With his reputation spotlessly pristine, the Lord Privy Seal had easily become the frontrunner in the court of public opinion among the commoners. Schneizel's name was mentioned more and more often in the ranks of the aristocracy as a young but promising statesman.

One month after the death of Earl of Galveston, the Second Prince had been summoned before the Emperor, leaving Lelouch anxious and impatient for his elder brother to return.

Three hours later Schneizel had swept back into his study, Kanon at his heels and a jubilant smirk over his handsome face.

"Well?" Lelouch snapped out, crossing his legs and lounging back into the crisp leather of his older brother's couch. "Good news or bad news?"

Stroking his chin in mock thought, Schneizel swaggered over to his desk and threw himself down into the chair behind it before propping his feet up on the wooden surface. "Well. Good news or bad news? I suppose that depends on how you feel about the fact that you're looking at the new Prime Minister of the Holy Britannian Empire?"

The Second Prince ignored the snort his younger brother gave to snap his fingers imperiously at his assistant. "Get us some snifters and brandy, Kanon. The good vintage. Some of the Seventeenth century Armagnac, if you will. None of the cheap Cyprus swill."

Raising an eyebrow, Lelouch rolled lavender eyes as the rose-gold haired assistant bowed and crisply left the room. "Need I remind you that I'm only thirteen years old, Schneizel? You had best be careful, otherwise you might find yourself in the same type of sticky situation as de Valady."

"Oh please, you're a Prince of the Empire. If you're not willing to break a rule here and there, you'll never make it to twenty. That being said, my preferences don't run to skinny prepubescent sticks anyway."

"Don't let Kanon hear you say that."

"I have you know that Kanon is more than a touch fit beneath all that started velvet." Schneizel retorted as the door swung back inward. Winking as Kanon stumbled at the embarrassing implication, the new Prime Minister gestured grandly at the desk his feet were propped on. "Don't let us hold you up, Kanon."

Rolling his eyes, Kanon set the glasses and brandy down with a scowl. "Yes sir, no sir. Say more embarrassing things about me, sir. Just let me strip for your entertainment, sir. Should I show my birthmarks to your underage brother, _sir_?"

"We are not quite Romans _yet_ , Kanon."

"Hush, you degenerate."

"I think your public image would be rather tarnished if they could witness exchanges like these." Lelouch commented, accepting the snifter of Armagnac with a dubious look. "Perhaps I should start recording them for posterity, so I can topple you with a well-timed leak and take your position for myself."

"You're welcome to try." Schneizel chuckled, swallowing down a sip of the brandy and smirking as Lelouch reluctantly attempted the same. The chuckles became full-blown laughter as Lelouch visibly choked on the burning alcohol, his younger brother's eyes filling with the shimmer of tears. "Though I think you'll have to learn to hold your liquor before you even have a chance at me."

"Getting absolutely intoxicated and pretending to be genteel is a national sport for Britiannia's aristocracy." Kanon commented idly as he swirled the dark spirit in his own glass. "You'll also want to learn to choke down the most disgusting foreign cuisine and claim it as utterly scrumptious. As they say - when in doubt, always bring your doggie bag."

Lelouch coughed wetly into his fist. "If that's the case, maybe I should take the Cornelia route and spend my time in the trenches. It can't be any worse than choking on a snail or having to swallow down frog legs."

Pouring himself a second glass, Schneizel smiled winningly. "It's good to see you finally coming around to my point of view, dear brother. How does Field Marshal vi Britannia sound?"

"It was a _joke_ , Schneizel." Lelouch growled, pressing a hand to his temple to try and stave off the beginnings of drunk dizziness. Despite his royal station, it was the first time the young teen had actually tried alcohol. "I wish you would just get off my back about it. I have absolutely no intention of becoming another one of Britannia's hired killers. If it matters that much to you, then _you_ become Field Marshal. I can easily content myself with the Prime Minister's office."

Schneizel pulled his legs down, settling his feet on the floor to lean over the desk and frown at the Eleventh Prince. "You're going to have to come to terms with the fact that our alliance and goals mean that you're going to have to make some sacrifices, Lelouch. Even ignoring my own decade or so of work to establish myself as a statesman rather than a soldier, you simply don't have the necessary breeding to get the automatic support I do for government positions. Further, you don't have the temperament to perform the necessary ass-kissing to succeed in the political world."

Laying his forearm over his eyes, Lelouch sunk back into the couch. "I didn't expect you to have such a vulgar phrase as part of your vocabulary, my dear _properly_ _bred_ brother." he sneered.

The blonde prince sighed, sipping another mouthful of brandy and enjoying the smoky flavour. "You know just as I do that birthright is irrelevant compared to potential. But to rise, we have to work within the system we're given. You would be hampered in the political system, but within the military your mother's reputation would only do you favours, and your strategic acumen would see you quickly climb the ranks. Achieve some miraculous victories, and you can easily become as famous and popular as Cornelia."

Plucking the snifter from Lelouch's limp fingers, Kanon frowned down at the boy with a modicum of concern. "Remember Lelouch that you cannot simply coast along on Schneizel's reputation forever. If you intend to contribute to your shared plans, then at some point you'll need to step out of your brother's shadow and create your own independent value."

"... I'll think about it."

* * *

"Your tea, your highnesses."

"Thank you, Jeremiah."

Bowing in reply, the turquoise haired Margrave retreated to the edge of earshot distance and took up guard. He automatically scanned the water gardens of Aquarius Villa, lingering on the dark corners at the opposite end of the raised pools before turning back to his mistress.

Nunnally just smiled softly, closed eyes scrunching at a light-hearted comment from her pink-haired older sister. Though the wild gesticulations Euphemia went through were lost on the blind girl, she picked up enough on the excitement in the Third Princess' voice to listen attentively.

More and more Jeremiah found himself guarding Empress Marianne's younger child as her older one locked himself away in the estate's library, pouring over history books with a ferocious scowl. As much as the knight longed to make himself useful to Prince Lelouch in whatever new endeavour had seized his master's fancy, there was truly little Jeremiah could do to contribute.

It was not that Jeremiah didn't enjoy watching over Princess Nunnally, because as long as he was fulfilling the oaths he'd sworn, the man was satisfied. But rather that there was something about Prince Lelouch that inspired Jeremiah. A caged steel ferocity that reminded the Margrave of the few times he'd seen Charles zi Britannia up close. Not that Jeremiah's lord was likely to accept any similarities between himself and the Emperor considering the eternal grudge the Eleventh Prince had sworn against the man.

"I wish Lelouch didn't spend so much time buried in dusty old books or hiding around with Schneizel." Euphemia pouted, twirling a lock of pink hair around her forefinger. "It's not like we have cooties or anything. It's been two weeks since I've said more than three sentences to him."

Sipping daintily at her Earl Grey, Nunnally shrugged one shoulder. "I don't think it's his intent to avoid us. He's just the type that gets caught up in his work. Sooner or later he'll finish up, after which we can guilt trip him into arranging a few days out of Pendragon. I hear that the beaches in Hawaii are nice this time of the year." The Sixth Princess grinned mischievously.

Looking positively un-cheered-up, Euphemia slouched forward and rested her chin on her crossed arms. "That works less and less every time you try it, Nunna. It was the same thing with Nelly when she was thinking about joining the military. She eventually just... stopped worrying about not spending time with me anymore. I know she loves me, but I want more from my sister than a five-minute video call once-a-week!"

Nunnally took in Euphemia's rant with a frown, tightening her blind grip around the porcelain teacup with the beginnings of a frown. The Sixth Princess struggled to string together the right words to say. The automatic response that bubbled up from what her mother had taught her about adulthood was something like 'people grow apart as they grow up' or 'grown-ups just tend to keep certain things private'.

The automatic response was a cop-out. Nunnally vi Britannia might be an eleven-year-old blind and crippled girl in a wheelchair, but she wasn't stupid. Many close and intimate adult friendships were spawned out of childhood. Age did not automatically translate distance. Lelouch was drifting – had been drifting ever since the Second Pacific War – but it wasn't because her older brother was going through 'growing pains'.

"I don't know, Euphy. I want to say that you should talk to Nelly? Just tell her how you feel. I'm sure she's not blocking you out of her life on purpose." Nunnally strung together the platitude almost unconsciously. She didn't really know what to say to Euphy about Cornelia. Nelly was twenty-three years old and mature enough to know what she wanted, so if she didn't feel like talking to Euphy...

Well, either way Nunnally couldn't just leave her older sister hanging in the breeze.

* * *

Lelouch coughed, wafting away the cloud of dust that blew in his face after opening _A Historie of Britannia, Volume VII._ Violet orbs scanned over the paragraphs of archaic text, skimming over references and descriptions of the Hundred Years' War. So very much had changed about the world in the interim, but at their most fundamental military tactics had remained the same.

Maintaining morale. Misinformation. Control of terrain. Superior armaments. Placement of specialized troop formation. Use of unorthodox burst of genius to create unexpected military assets.

Rubbing his temples with his fingers, Lelouch stamped down on the headache that was slowly but surely building between his ears. Truthfully, though the Eleventh Prince enjoyed exercising his intellect, he preferred games of strategy or human study rather than pure academics.

"Is there a problem, Master Lelouch?" Sayoko queried, stepping forward from her silent post with an expression of concern. "Would you like me to get a painkiller for you?"

"It's fine, Sayoko." Lelouch grunted, turning a page with a grimace. He honestly had no idea _where_ Schneizel had dug up the woman. Unlike Nunnally, Lelouch was entirely aware that her guise of maid was a front for her true assassin's skill set. So it begged the question of where and _how_ the Second Prince had managed to discover and hire the Thirty-Seventh Successor to the Shinozaki School of Martial Arts.

Even after Japan had been conquered and renamed Area Eleven, the heir to one of Japan's most famous shinobi clans had no business working as a mere _maid_. It was baffling. Lelouch had long since learned not to trust _anyone_ , yet it seemed as if the woman was entirely squeaky clean and loyal. One time he'd been frustrated enough to order Sayoko to jump, and she'd asked "How high?" for God's sake.

It was frustrating because Lelouch _wanted_ to trust her. Sayoko was kind and efficient and Nunnally loved her in the fragile hopeful way his sister loved everyone since their mother had been murdered. Lelouch himself was so damnably tired of being eternally vigilant against everyone in the world except his only true sibling.

"Just a bit of a headache. Would you fetch Jeremiah for me? Just send him to me while you stay and watch Nunnally."

"As you command."

Sayoko bowed and departed, leaving Lelouch alone with the shelves upon shelves that contained the thousands of books that had collected within Aquarius Villa since it had been constructed. Swallowing down the sudden rush of loneliness, the Eleventh Prince turned back down to flip another yellowed page, only to have the book yanked out of his hands.

"What the _hell_ –" he began, snapping furious violet orbs up in the beginning of a tirade. The words died in Lelouch's throat as Cornelia stared back down at him with an utterly unimpressed look on her face.

Silence hung thick and heavy between them until Cornelia reached out a calloused hand and gave Lelouch's forehead a sharp flick.

"You're an imbecile."

Lelouch scowled, reaching out to try and grab the book back. "I don't have time for games, Cornelia. Speak your business or leave."

Another flick. "Imbecile."

"Cornelia-"

"Imbecile."

"Would you just-"

"Imbecile."

"What is wrong with you, you –"

"Imbecile."

" _Cornelia_!"

"Imbecile."

A throbbing red mark adorned the center of Lelouch's pale forehead, rounded in the precise shape of his older sister's fingernail. A fierce glare knotted the Eleventh Prince's brows together, but he subsided with ill grace and ceased trying to yank his borrowed text back.

"Stop making Euphy sad."

Lelouch bit the inside of his cheek, turning away to stare stubbornly at the book stacks. He was hurting Euphy – and Nunnally even – with his distance. But what else could he do?

It was all Lelouch could manage at times to simply contain all the rage and despair at the injustice of their lives. How their father had stolen their futures, exiled them like disposable pawns, and then decided to scoop them back up and shove them onto the board again at the Emperor's whim.

Euphy had never woken up to the sight of her mother's bloody corpse, and Nunnally couldn't recall anything at all from that day. All of his mother's guards had been off-duty or dead, save the ever-eager Gottwald that had arrived for his shift early. It had been Jeremiah that had bundled his mother's corpse up in a sheet and called for help, while all Lelouch could do was scream and scream and _scream_.

Those memories cloaked the Eleventh Prince in everything he did. A constant insistent malady that riddled him through with fears and weaknesses. He couldn't connect to the innocence his younger sisters had stubbornly clung to. Lelouch simply didn't belong in that world any longer.

Cornelia's fingers tangled through the dark strands Lelouch had inherited from his mother, forcing the young teen to meet her softened gaze. "The stronger you try act the more brittle you'll become, Lelouch. It's not weakness to love and be loved. Otherwise, what are we struggling for?"

"Just think about it." The Second Princess sighed after watching her younger brother struggle silently for a long moment. Ruffling Lelouch's hair, she straightened back, bringing out the sharp lines of her figure with the crispness of her crimson uniform. "So, what's this Schneizel is telling me about you looking to climb up the military? Careful now," she winked. "You might be my brother, but you're out of your mind if you think I'll ever let you be my boss."

"I have no desire to become another killer-for-hire in the Britannian military." Lelouch snarked viciously, choosing to redirect his inner conflict into anger. "Why anyone would want to join that gang of bloodthirsty murderers is beyond me!"

Cornelia's warm eyes had descended into frigid chips of purple ice as Lelouch spat his mouthful of vitriol. Unease sparked along his spine as the princess stared silently at him. Cornelia might have been his sister, but Lelouch was acutely aware in that moment that she'd killed people with her bare hands before.

Finally, the woman snorted and shook her head ruefully. "Schneizel won't shut up about what a genius you are, but you're still just a child, _Lulu_." Cornelia dismissed, tossing the text she'd pilfered from him back in his lap and turning away.

Stung, Lelouch bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted the first tang of copper. "That's just an excuse adults come up with when they're asked uncomfortable questions." he accused spitefully, watching with satisfaction as his sister's spine straightened and she came to a stop. "You have no defence for the atrocities you or this country have committed, so you run away!"

"The history of humanity is a history of atrocities!" Cornelia snapped back, spinning to glare at him with hands on her hips. "Whatever crimes Britannia has committed has been committed a thousand times by a thousand different peoples. There is nothing that sets this nation apart in terms of the suffering it has created besides your own personal biases, Lelouch vi Britannia! You are an idiot savant if you fail to recognize the basic greed of humanity!"

"Cornelia-"

"Go toddle about with your chessboard and sit secure in your little ivory tower, you self-righteous infant. I will be here in the real world, where the conflict between states is just as complex as the conflict between individuals, and where it is up to the people like me to make sure people like you have the luxury of an industrialized society to complain in."

"But don't worry your pretty little head, brother dear." Cornelia cut him off crossly when the Eleventh Prince tried to open his mouth. "Big sister will take care of everything. You just sit back, relax, and enjoy some good old-fashioned pissing and moaning."

The slam of the door behind Cornelia was shockingly loud in the stunned silence.

* * *

Kaguya refused to cry. It didn't matter that her mother had died raped and tortured in the fog of war, or that it was her father's body currently burning down to cinders on the pyre. It certainly didn't matter that she was ten years old and an orphan. She was the Sumeragi, head of one of the Six Houses of Kyoto.

Weakness was a luxury that she'd never be afforded again.

Accepting the clay urn that contained her father's still warm ashes as it was pressed into her hands, Kaguya steadied the tremble in her limbs with sheer willpower. At the least the members of the branch houses had done the solemn duty of picking out the remnants of Sumeragi Daichi's bones.

If she'd had to do that, it might have dashed her into mad glittering pieces.

A subtle cough behind her prodded Kaguya into action, and with a respectful bow she turned silently away and drifted past Kirihara-dono. The elderly male was her new guardian, and would be responsible for managing Sumeragi Corporation until she was of age. It was a load off her small shoulders, as the head of the Six Houses would make sure her inheritance was both well-managed and carefully committed to support the Japanese Resistance.

If only her father had managed to live long enough to see Japan free instead of wasting away with grief at the loss of his spouse. At least then her father would have died a hero instead of having his name universally reviled as an opportunistic traitor.

The funeral process moved in a silent, orderly manner to the crypt where Kaguya's father would be placed for his final rest. The red ink that stained his name had been washed away days ago, marking the man's death and grave beside his beloved wife.

Kaguya moved numbly through the motions of interring the urn and stepping away from the graveyard. She'd likely shamed her father's spirit by refusing to outwardly take part in the extended mourning period their people traditionally would have taken. But even as young as she was, Kaguya was aware of the importance of acting as Britannian as possible.

It was simply another concession to the nation that conquered her people.

Such was the life of an Honourary Britannian.

* * *

Suzaku's first instinct was to cross through the dispersing crowd to his cousin's side and attempt to offer her comfort for her losses. But they didn't live in Japan any longer and the steel expression Kaguya wore warned away all emotional weaknesses.

Besides, it was better for her to be kept away from him. Suzaku was a filthy beast. A disgusting animal in human skin that shouldn't even be part of a funeral service. Kaguya deserved someone better as her kin than a boy who had murdered his own father.

His uncle was probably troubled in his grave already. If not from the shortened service than surely for the fact that a kinslayer was present. Daichi's spirit could no doubt see through all the masks and lies Suzaku had constructed to hide his dirty little secret.

The successor to the Kururugi House dreaded the day his mother would pass into the next world and find out what sort of monster she'd truly birthed. Until that moment he could hide the fact that he'd killed his father and let her love someone that didn't actually exist – someone he could pretend was him.

Turning away, Suzaku took a shuddering breath and deliberately stepped away. With every step the patricide could feel the bonds that tied him down to his family stretching and stretching until they finally gave way with a snap that cut right to his heart as he stepped out of the graveyard.

Suzaku had no right to call those people his family. The hundreds of years of proud traditions were no longer his own. The love and affection that had been his right as a boy were forfeit as part of the cost of his sins. The only penance he could make was to take up the purpose he'd been taught he was born with.

To empty himself out of all personal ambitions and desires, and act solely as a vessel for the hope and betterment of the Japanese. It had been for the Japanese that he murdered his own father to end Genbu's policy of do-or-die warfare, and thus killed Japan. And it would be for the Japanese that he continued to struggle.

Suzaku had a new goal now. To become the Knight of One, and take back the reins of Japan and end the divide that separated the Elevens from their conquerors. The Kururugi family had finally been quietly taken off the kill-on-sight list, which meant there would be nothing stopping him from joining the Britannian military at sixteen and climbing the ladder with his own blood and sweat.

Nothing but the horror and disappointment of the family he didn't deserve to have anyway.

* * *

Twin crimson Geass symbols blazed in the dark as Charles zi Britannia stalked through the corridors of Aquarius Villa. His Field of Absolute Rescription strained to its capacity as the Emperor instantly rewrote the memories of everyone who glimpsed him to forget his presence. The constant dissonance between recognition and forgetfulness froze anyone's mental processes until Charles had passed by, and provided him a pseudo cloak of invisibility.

Bismarck had already infiltrated Schneizel's security center and knocked out all soldiers watching the monitors with a cloud of anaesthetic. His Knight of One would erase all recordings of the sovereign's presence.

Snorting at the way Schneizel stared with a gaping mouth as Charles pushed by, the Emperor shut his second son's mouth with an absent flick, only to watch as the relaxed muscles of the boy's jaw drooped it back open. If the press caught a photo of the newly minted Prime Minister with such an unattractive expression, the popularity the boy enjoyed would surely take a hit.

Perhaps he ought to arrange it just to teach Schneizel a little bit of humility. But alas, Charles wasn't wandering Aquarius Villa for the sake of his own amusement. He'd caved to the vague flickers of guilt, and had a mission to complete. Nunnally would never walk again, but once Charles used his Geass on her once more the girl would at least _see_ again.

Hopefully the gift would defang Marianne for a few weeks. His wife was having a bit of a fit that he hadn't given her the go ahead to participate in the conquest of Cambodia. The woman had always been an adrenaline junkie, but the Emperor hadn't thought she'd be salivating at what was going to turn out to be no more than a week-long war stomping through jungles and rice paddies. It wasn't like he had told her she couldn't fight in the eventual war against China.

Alas, rationality never had much place in tempering Marianne. The woman was a spitfire. It was why he'd married her in the first place.

Charles stepped into Nunnally room gingerly, curling in his broad shoulders to avoid the door frame. The Sixth Princess lay slumbering beneath his violet gaze like a statuesque little angel. One hand was curled under Nunnally's chin while the other hung tangled loosely in her lavender bed sheets. She was innocent and broken, and the sight of her tugged faintly at the stiff cockles of Charles' heart.

So many of his children had been ill used by the world, but what was an Emperor to do? Contrary to his image, Charles was not an all-powerful autocrat. Life as a monarch was a struggle to balance the concerns of a hundred different factions while projecting an air of majesty that demanded homage. Darwinism was a creed he'd inherited, not one that Charles had created; and one that had grown ever more dominant after the Emblem of Blood.

Not even the royal family was immune to the thirst for perfection that was preached in the streets of Britannia. If his children weren't strong enough to stand on their own, then they had to fall on their own. A weak Emperor led to civil war and foreign invasion, and Charles couldn't place the Empire on a scale and let concern for a child or two outweigh the millions of lives at stake.

Sometimes one had to be cruel to be kind, and Charles was fully prepared to be cruel when he had to be. There was no other way to be a monarch. But _here_ at least, with his presence unknown and without the spectre of Vincent weighing down his choices, Charles could pretend to be a father for a few moments.

Reaching out and cupping his daughter's face in his large hands, Charles let the Geass sigil flare in his eyes even as Nunnally fluttered awake looking confused and alarmed.

"Charles zi Britannia commands you…"

* * *

Sweat poured down his back, and after pounding out another lap around the villa Lelouch let himself collapse to the ground in a boneless heap. Every breath he drew in smelt of the grass pressing into his cheek, burning through his lungs as the prince let his eyes flutter closed in exhaustion.

Years ago in Japan Lelouch had made fun of Suzaku and called the Japanese boy an 'exercise nut'. If he'd known the kind of sweet oblivion that working out could give him back then, the Eleventh Prince never would have used the term as an insult. When he gave everything in him over to a purely physical work out, Lelouch simply didn't have any energy to spare on dark thoughts and recrimination.

"You're improving, Your Highness."

"Laugh all you want, Jeremiah." Lelouch puffed, cracking open one violet orb to blearily glare at his knight. "One day I'll outrun _you_."

The lack of reply that the Margrave offered was just as damning as an overt scoff would be. The Prince might have taken up exercise in an attempt to improve his fitness and occupy his time, but he was no trained soldier. Perhaps if he made it through Basic then Lelouch might have a shot at outperforming his servant.

"Prince Schneizel has departed for Cambodia while you were out running." Jeremiah offered conversationally when a few minutes passed and it became clear Lelouch had no more spiteful barbs to offer. The knight shuffled a little closer when his prince gave a gusty sigh of exasperation.

"Well I suppose I ought not to get in the way of _important men_." Lelouch commented with a touch of bitterness. Jeremiah just held his tongue at another display of venom on his master's part.

Truthfully it wasn't fair for him to be irate with Schneizel. His brother was the Prime Minister, and that came with more duties than catering to his orphaned siblings. Stepping in to ease the transition from direct military rule to civilian bureaucracy in the newly established Area 13 was little more than what might be expected from the Second Prince.

In the end, it wasn't Schneizel's fault that Lelouch was increasingly weighed down by a sense of uselessness. Schneizel was the Prime Minister and spent his time ruling the Empire. Cornelia was a Brigadier General and had helped to conquer Cambodia. Even Clovis had flown off to Montreal to take part in a grand meeting of the Empire's most talented artists.

All the while Lelouch was just sitting at home playing nursemaid to Nunnally and Euphemia. Maybe if Nunnally was still blind he might feel truly needed, or maybe if he had real friends in Pendragon he might feel content whiling his time away in the capitol. But he had neither of those things, and the grounds of Aquarius Villa felt more and more like a cage to the fourteen-year-old prince.

Lelouch wanted to be doing _something_ to advance his plans for revenge and pave the way for Schneizel to take the throne. His brain would drip out of his ears otherwise. And while Lelouch knew exactly what Schneizel wanted him to do, the thought of joining the military still burnt like acid in his throat. But then again, lately he'd found Cornelia's sharp-edged goading rolling around in the back of his mind.

_Imbecile._

"Jeremiah." Lelouch began heavily, rolling on his back and throwing his sweaty forearm over his eyes to blot out the midday sun. "What sort of contacts do you have in the Imperial Colchester Institute?"

* * *

The Cambodian Royal Palace had a distinctly French air that Schneizel couldn't help but notice as he weaved through marble pillars and into the Throne Hall. Europe's flirtation with colonialism had left its mark, even if the Old World had declined and lost their overseas possessions.

Europe's failures lay the foundations for Britannia's successes, because to a subjugated people one conqueror was much the same as another, and in the view of the newly minted Thirteens the Britannians were just restoring the old order.

"Schneizel." Cornelia greeted tersely as he entered the hall. Dark shadows ringed her eyes, and despite her victory the Second Prince knew she had to be exhausted. No matter how short a war ended up, it would still take its toll in sleepless nights and the cycle of adrenaline rushes.

The two royals moved in a pair deeper into the home of Cambodia's former royal family. "The OSI has finished their cleanup, I assume?" Schneizel prodded, ignoring the pounding in his temples and the grittiness at the corners of his eyes. Jet lag was… inconvenient, but he wouldn't allow it to rule over him.

Curling her lip slightly, Cornelia gave a vague wave at their surroundings. Despite the opulence of the palatial residence, it was marked by the scars of war. Broken statues and bullet scars marred what would otherwise be a stunning example of French and Buddhist influenced architecture. "What do you think?"

Schneizel thought that the former King and all of his relatives in the sixth degree were lined up in body bags, but it seemed crass to just out and say so. Instead he just hummed thoughtfully as they turned down a corridor.

The sound of voices chattering in English prickled at their ears as they drew closer to the mishmash command center-slash-center of government that had been hastily set up in the palace. Given the choice Schneizel would have picked almost anywhere else to administer Britannia's newest Area from. It seemed rather gauche to be governing from the home of the country's former rulers before their bodies were even could, but alas, it was Britannian policy.

Destroy and assimilate all the symbols of the former regime and leave the people with none of their history to look back on and hold dear.

"Has His Majesty decided what's to be done long term?" Cornelia questioned, running a hand through her mussed purple mane. She'd been without the attendants to craft her typically picture-perfect appearance for a week, and it showed. A pair of braids wrapped around to the back of her head and kept her hair out of her eyes, but it was her only concession to vanity.

Schneizel sighed and waved away a group of soldiers that just seemed to realize royals were among the common folk. They were safe at the time and had no need for anxious guards hovering about. Especially since Kanon had already made sure the grounds were clear of any enemies before Schneizel had even touched down in the country. "I attempted to persuade him that the best option would be to simply annex it to Area Ten."

"But?"

"But he seems content to dangle it before the nobility and encourage them to squabble amongst themselves in hopes of a new personal fiefdom. Even that oaf Henry is getting involved." Schneizel's tone remained cheery and polite, but Cornelia knew from the slight narrowing of his eyes that he was less than sanguine about the whole affair.

Not that she could blame him. Henry ne Britannia might be their brother, but the Fourth Prince was a ham-fisted fool that was even worse than Guinevere. The idea that he might be the first Viceroy of the country her men had just bled and died to conquer didn't sit well with the Witch of Britannia. "I see."

The conversation lapsed into silence as Schneizel moved across the crowded conference room to more intently study a real-time map of the current deployment of the Eight Army of Britannia. The array of troops was more defensive than either of them would have liked, concentrated too thickly in the most important cities and giving up too much control of the jungled countryside, but Darlton was a cautious general. In his opinion, it was better to ensure security over the most strategic assets than take the risk to hold the whole battle theatre firmly in hand.

One day the Eight Army's tactics would change, but that would have to wait until _Cornelia_ was the man's superior, rather than the other way around.

"How is Euphy?" Cornelia prodded once it became clear that her brother was lost in thought. Schneizel was an effective politician and one of her dearest siblings, but the man had a tendency to let his mind drift into ridiculously complex strategizing and daydreaming when the opportunity came up. She should have known that exposing him to troop layouts would lead to him doing something absurd like piecing together exactly the way he would have commanded the invasion.

Shaken out of his daze, the Second Prince flashed a swift smile for the benefit of a trio of staring communications officers that wandered by before returning his attention to his sister. "She and Nunnally are well. It seems Clovis has inspired them to try their hand at painting now that Nunnally can see again. Their results are certainly… enthusiastic."

Enthusiastic and likely utter horrors to the world of art, Cornelia inferred with an amused quirk of her lips. "And Lelouch? How is he… developing?" _Developing_ was such a clinical and roundabout way to refer to the little joint project she had going on with Schneizel to wear down the Eleventh Prince's prejudice against their country.

Lelouch could do great things for Britannia and the world at large, but only once he was forced to let go of his unreasonable prejudice against all things Britannian. Joining the military would force him to do both. He'd be expanding the nation's borders on one hand and be forced to confront the fact that Britannian soldiers weren't the monsters of his nightmares on the other. Two birds with one stone.

"Slower than I'd hoped, but better than I'd feared." Schneizel confessed, folding his arms over his chest and frowning down at the white sleeves of his noble attire. "Perhaps another visit from you wouldn't be amiss."

"Absolutely not." Cornelia denied instantly. She and Lelouch had been at loggerheads since their confrontation in the library, and both stubborn royals had a way of getting under each others' skin when they argued. If she tried to push, Lelouch would just double down. Cornelia had the last word in their scuffle, and she intended to keep it that way until her bratty brother came around. Trying to shift that détente would just lead to disaster.

The _look_ Schneizel gave her was less than impressed. Maybe there was a point to her reluctance, but that didn't make the blond man blind to her flaws. If Cornelia was willing to swallow some of her own pride and approach him more calmly, she might find that she had a greater hold on Lelouch than she assumed. But it wouldn't do him any good to accuse her of being spiteful to her face. He had no desire to alienate one of his closest allies just for the sake of playing family counselor.

"He took up an exercise regimen last month, and he hadn't quit it before I left." The Prime Minister offered instead of a condemnation. "He's also been studying military strategy and history for years. If I had to make a gamble, I'd say his mouth is saying one thing and his behaviour is saying another. Give him a year or two and you may find that Britannia has another prince signing up for service."

"We can only hope."

* * *

The knock on her door startled Villetta out of her slightly drunken haze. Setting her nearly empty glass of full-bodied red wine on the counter, the knight ran a lazy hand through her unbound silvery locks and tousled them into a half-neat tumble.

It was a Saturday night and she'd been rotated off duty for a week, so Villetta doubted it was anyone _too_ important. One of the neighbors most likely, and not really worth the effort of making herself prim and pristine.

"Coming." Villetta called out half-heartedly, irritation already prickling as she stepped around her second-hand kitchen table so that she could reach the door. Maybe it was uncharitable for her to get so annoyed by the interruption to her weekend, but Villetta Nu was no hereditary noble. Chivalry and generosity was expected from bluebloods, not commoners.

The face she found on the other end of the door was the last one Villetta would have expected.

"Jeremiah?"

"Villetta." The Margrave returned evenly, orange eyes giving a cursory sweep over her appearance that had Villetta flushing. Tatty flannel plaid was comfortable, but it was not in any way sexy, and she was acutely aware of how unflattering her pajamas were.

"May I come in?"

Swallowing dryly, Villetta wordlessly stepped aside and let her childhood friend step inside. The door shut with a click behind Jeremiah, and after steadying herself with a fortifying breath she turned to study the man she hadn't seen in nearly five years.

Jeremiah's hair was shorter than she remembered, and his shoulders seemed to be a little broader, but he still looked like the man she remembered from their days at Colchester. It made her feel more nostalgic than all the distant letters and emails they'd exchanged through the years since graduation put together.

"Wine?" she offered when the silence seemed to grow even more stifling. Without waiting for a reply, Villetta crossed over to her kitchenette in search of another glass. It gave her an excuse to delay having to look Jeremiah in the face again. She didn't want to see his judgement of her tacky middle class commoner apartment, or see an acknowledgement that her drinking alone seemed like the habit of an addict, or even an appreciation of the fact that her previously coltish figure had grown voluptuous.

They hadn't been lovers for years, and the emotions Jeremiah seemed to effortlessly instill in her belonged in the grave. He'd made his choices, and she'd made hers.

"What brings you to Honolulu?" Villetta prodded conversationally after picking a glass that didn't seem too tacky. "I would have thought you'd still be in Pendragon."

"I was." Jeremiah agreed neutrally, shifting his gaze from the framed picture of Villetta's deceased parents hanging on the wall so he could study the woman's tan face directly. Accepting the glass of wine from his once-lover, he lifted the rim to his lips and took a small sip.

"Bordeaux, Villetta?"

"The French do know their wine." The silver-haired woman mused as she sampled her own drink. "Let's hope that when the Emperor turns them into Fifteens or Twenty-Threes or whatever they'll be that the winemakers aren't too disrupted, shall we?"

Smirking faintly as the nobleman gave an indelicate snort, Villetta swirled her glass before fixing Jeremiah with a sharp yellow stare. "But as delightful as it is, I doubt you came to see me to discuss my wine preferences, Lord Gottwald."

A reflexive grimace pulled the corners of Jeremiah's mouth at the formal address. It was a sign of the distance between them, because even as children together growing up in Hawaii she'd never addressed him by title. It hadn't mattered that he was the pureblood descendent of Britannian conquerors while she was a commoner of uncertain ancestry when they were young. It hadn't mattered when they'd enlisted in the military together either.

Apparently, it mattered now.

"You're right." Jeremiah confirmed slowly, setting his mostly full glass aside. "Even though it's long overdue, I didn't come here for a social call. I came with an offer."

Villetta cocked an eyebrow, curiosity climbing into incredulity as she considered the few details of Jeremiah's life that had found their way to her ears one way or another. "An offer? From _Lelouch vi Britannia_?" It boggled her mind that some distant royal prince she'd never even seen much less spoken to would have any interest in her. Jeremiah might have made suggestions, but if she was really being _approached_ like Jeremiah had been all those years ago then he must have greater influence over the Prince than she'd have ever guessed.

Turquoise brows drew together as Jeremiah's gaze skittered away for a brief instant before finding its way back. "An offer from _me_." He clarified, voice heavy with meaning and orange orbs flaring with intent.

The light in Jeremiah's eyes was sharp as a blade and as hot as the sun. It was an achingly familiar look that he had no business giving her, but against her will Villetta felt her stomach clench in memory of what once was. The feeling might have been pleasant if it wasn't accompanied by the taste of her own bitter abandonment like ashes in her mouth.

"What kind of offer?"

"Lieutenant Colonel - under me – in His Highness' Royal Guard."

Villetta rocked back on her heels, threading her hands together and setting them on the countertop so she could study the white knuckling of her hands.

So, the Eleventh Prince had decided to finally grow some teeth. Villetta supposed it was inevitable, since he couldn't live under the protection of Prince Schneizel's Royal Guards forever. Eventually he would have to return to his own estate.

But still, leading a Royal Guard wasn't a paltry bodyguard appointment. Any Prince or Princess could hire guardsmen. The Royal Guard was _more_. It was the personal regiment of the royal in question. It was both sword and shield, and they swore personal loyalty rather than the loyalty a soldier was supposed to have for the royal family in general.

"Do you even have the right to make that kind of offer?" She stalled.

"His Highness trusts my judgement in this matter."

So there were no easy denials if she wanted to offer them. Villetta supposed Jeremiah may have thought he was doing her a favour, since there was more prestige and fame in joining a Royal Guard than in all but the highest-ranking appointments. But he'd also quite thoroughly fucked her. She was essentially no one, and had neither the power nor the privilege to spurn the offer of a Prince of the Empire.

"Well there's not much of a choice, now is there?"

"Villetta." Jeremiah reached out to wrap his hand around her wrist as she moved to drink her frustration away. "I told you the offer comes from me. Not him. There's no penalty if you want to refuse. Just say no and it'll be like this meeting never occurred."

The contact of skin-on-skin burned like a brand.

"Why?"

Why was he coming to her? Why _now_ , after so long? Why had he taken the time and the energy to convince his Prince that a total stranger would be a good choice to serve him? Villetta was angry and flattered all at once. The chance to hitch her boat to his and rise with a royal prince was a once in a lifetime opportunity that was only offered to truly exceptional soldiers out of the millions serving in Britannia's military.

But the flush of pride wasn't enough to blunt the sting of old heartbreak. Villetta had _loved_ Jeremiah. She'd loved him with an ardent passion she hadn't felt for anyone else before and after, and no amount of trying had been able to strip the memory of him out of her bones. She'd secretly hungered for a noble title ever since she was a child because no nobleman would ever marry a commoner. She'd followed him to Colchester. She would have followed him anywhere.

Apparently she was the only one that felt that way, because despite all their history and confessions Jeremiah had jumped when Empress Marianne told him to and apparently never looked back. It had been a betrayal of the highest order to Villetta, and it had taken her a long time to distance herself from the poisoned wounds Jeremiah had left her with.

She'd been relatively content until he'd taken it upon himself to step back into her life once more. So why? Was the position he'd arranged for her supposed to be some kind of apology? Or did he just think that he could step back into her life after so long like nothing had happened?

"Because I never forgot you, and I don't think you've forgotten me either."

* * *

Very slowly and deliberately, Schneizel exhaled. He was the Prime Minister of the Holy Britannian Empire. The people loved him as their smiling unflappable White Prince. Several of his many siblings mockingly called him the Cold-Blooded Strategist. And he would _not_ break out into a screaming fit simply because Lelouch had decided to spring new life choices on him the day he returned after a month of creating a new colonial government in a third world country.

No.

"Lelouch." Schneizel said instead, shucking off his white and gold overcoat and tossing the thing over the back of the parlour's leather couch; leaving him in hiw purple waistcoat. "Shouldn't you be familiar with the fruits of recklessness already?" The barb was delivered in a deceptively gentle tone, but it was enough to have the Eleventh Prince glaring.

"That was low of you." Lelouch mumbled. The day that Lelouch vi Britannia had come before the Emperor in a fit of rage and been sent off to play hostage for it had turned into a lesson among the nobility. He'd lost control of himself and paid for it dearly, and the weight of that mistake would loom over Lelouch for the rest of his days. "Regardless, it _wasn't_ a reckless choice."

Smiling faintly at his brother, Schneizel crooked at finger at Kanon. "No?"

The blue-eyed assistant looked from one prince to the other before sighing and handing over the folder he'd pilfered from the office the Second Prince had given the Eleventh in the halls of Aquarius Villa.

Paper rustled as Schneizel flipped through the dossier. "Julius Kingsley. Born in Pendragon December 5, 1997 a.t.b. Violet eyes and red hair. Only child of Oliver and Mary Kingsley. Lived in Pendragon on a consistent basis but accompanied his father on business trips to Japan both before and after the invasion. Achieved high marks at 's Academy, but did not qualify for academic awards. Nor did he join any clubs. By all accounts a good but very quiet student. The sort that did well for himself but passed under the radar as thoroughly unremarkable otherwise. Just another everyman with a bit of family background to justify a touch of ambition."

"The OSI does good work." Schneizel admitted, flipping the folder closed and passing it back to Kanon so he could give his unrepentant ward his full attention. "But that doesn't change the fact that you've gone behind my back to submit yourself for military training. There's no doubt the Emperor knows by now, and if you're not on a military base somewhere within a few months questions will be asked."

"Questions were already being asked." Lelouch pointed out coolly, folding his thin arms over his chest and lifting his chin. "You were right when you said I can't hide away on your estate forever, and this is no more than you've been planning for me for years. There was no reason to wait, and at least this way it's on my terms."

Cloth rustled, and neither prince offered a comment as Kanon slipped from the room and left them to their quiet confrontation. The Second Prince's assistant could play a dozen roles from spy to secretary to assassin, but family mediator wasn't one of them.

Turning away from his suddenly defiant younger sibling, Schneizel drifted over to the great panel windows that afforded him a view of the sprawling water gardens that filled his estate. Part of him was ready to agree with Lelouch. Despite being the boy's guardian for years, he wasn't Lelouch's _father_. He was there to provide resources and help his brother, not coddle the boy or try to control him. Lelouch needed to stand up and guide his own destiny eventually.

Lelouch was just reminding Schneizel of that, along with himself. A bit petulant and pig-headed, but it got the point across. They'd both forgotten through the years that Lelouch wasn't a pawn, but a king in his own right. They'd lost sight of that fact, what with Schneizel caught up in his own schemes and Lelouch allowing himself to drown to the lethargy of old routine and the steadying presence of his younger sisters.

"Cornelia and I would have liked more time." Schneizel pointed out without censure. Lelouch already knew more about the military than some professional soldiers likely did, but theory wasn't practice. With a year or two they could have had Lelouch instructed privately so that once he took up an alias to officially enter training he'd end up at the top of the class, both mentally and _physically_.

"If I'm not strong enough to survive a little adversity now, there's no possibility I'd manage to do anything when the real trouble starts."

Which was a fair point, but that didn't make Lelouch any less tempestuous. If his younger brother wanted to assert his independence, there were other ways it could have been done. Failing out of basic training would be a black mark on Lelouch's record if it ever got out. A year or two could have shaped the Eleventh Prince into a soldier _before_ he made the official go at it.

The ideal General was one that planned in advance, and while most of the time Lelouch did so – on top of his intuitive grasp of real time tactics – once a fire had been lit under Lelouch the boy jumped in head first despite conventional wisdom and rationality. One day that flaw would come back and take its pound of flesh.

Sighing, Schneizel rubbed his forehead with two fingers before turning back to smirk at Lelouch. "Well, what's done is done. But let me warn you in advance – you're the one that's going to have to explain this to your sisters. I'm washing my hands of the whole situation."

Lelouch just rolled his eyes.

* * *

The warmth of the bath nearly scalded his skin as Lelouch shoved his head under the water and let his hair soak up the heat and soap. No matter how many times he scrubbed his body from head to toe, Lelouch couldn't help but feel a little dirty.

He could tell himself that he was only doing what he needed to do to get revenge. He could even say that he was doing it for the sake of the Japanese. But no excuse could dull the sharp ache that came with acknowledging the reality that he'd swallowed his pride and bowed his head to Britannia.

At first the possibility seemed like no more than a distant nightmare. Ally with Schneizel or not, there were other roles he could have ended up playing. Lelouch could almost see it. In another life perhaps, he'd have been a masked revolutionary shaking the foundations of the empire. He'd even conjured up a name for those fantasies.

 _Zero_. Oblivion. The one thing that Britannians had to be afraid of. Because what would frighten a people so obsessed with possessing everything but the concept of possessing nothing?

Hell, rebelling against his own nation as Zero might have even been able to fit into Schneizel's plans. They could have been two puppet masters jerking the strings around in a grand theatre. The Revolutionary could stir the masses up and then the Prince could push through reforms to settle them back down. The end product might even be a country worth living in, and if Charles zi Britannia ended up on the wrong end of a sniper rifle – well, such was the reality of rebellion.

But Lelouch had smothered the chance of a world like that when he'd submitted a request to the Office of Secret Intelligence for the standard package given to any royal that wanted to earn their stripes in the military. The thought of standing shoulder to shoulder with a pack of bloodthirsty killers was enough to turn Lelouch's stomach, but what choice did he have?

Pulling up, Lelouch gasped for air and wiped the water from his face with a rough swipe. Contrary to what they seemed to think, Lelouch wasn't blind. He'd already noticed how Schneizel and Cornelia had formed up a strategy to try and railroad him into joining the military. He would have merrily told his pair of meddling overbearing siblings where to shove it if not for one factor.

As much as Lelouch didn't want to admit it, their arguments made sense.

Britannia might have been built on blood and terror, but trying to outright destroy it would only lead to dozens of squabbling successor states and generations of conflict.

War might be the greatest expression of human cruelty, but it was still _human_ , and so long as separate states existed so would war.

Lelouch might be partial to the Japanese people, but rationally Britannians weren't inherently monstrous and it was unfair to try and flame some sort of vendetta against them.

When Schneizel had first articulated his support for one global government, Lelouch had thought his older brother a touch mad. But after years of impassioned debates, he had to admit that it made sense. It was a cold form of calculus, but the theory added up.

If only getting there didn't require massacre and sacrifice. The whole proposal put Lelouch in mind of something his mother had once said. It was along the lines of 'nothing worth having came free' and the old adage of if he wanted something done Lelouch had better damn well do it himself.

There was always the choice to trying to keep his hands clean. Lelouch could just spend his days huddled away with his sisters as the world turned on without them. They'd want for nothing as far as creature comforts went, and if evil was done then at least it hadn't been done by him. All he'd have to do would be to smile and pretend he didn't notice as his own soul rotted away.

No. Lelouch couldn't accept that. If the world was going to change, he had to be one of the ones doing the changing. His own pride would accept no less.

Heaving himself out of the bath, Lelouch frowned at the stick-thin muscles of his limbs. He looked pale and weak and like he'd never known a hard day's work in his life. Not exactly ideal soldier material. He had two months at most before he'd be shipped off somewhere for basic training. Enough time to get a little meat on his bones and try to not make an utter fool of himself.

It would be difficult enough for Lelouch to compete considering he was technically two years too young to be recruited if he were a commoner and adhered to the laws. The last thing he needed was to have to call in favours from Schneizel and Cornelia to avoid being thrown out on his ear. The shame of failure would haunt him if he were, not to mention the Emperor would get a good laugh at the spectacle of it.

Lelouch snorted, toweling himself off and blowing a few wet black strands out of his eyes. Two months to try and transform himself from the nerd that would get picked last in gym class to something resembling an athlete. If he avoided resorted to steroids it would be a miracle.

Though not as much of a miracle as telling Nunnally and Euphy about his new career without getting murdered in his bed.

What joy.


End file.
